


Caveat Lector

by semperama



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Characters Reading Fanfiction, First Time, Kitchen Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:46:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4258698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperama/pseuds/semperama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris and Zach have known fanfiction exists for a long time, but until now they have resisted the urge the read it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caveat Lector

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keep_calm_and_ks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_calm_and_ks/gifts).



> A little disclaimer: This gets a little bit meta, but it doesn't mention or even really allude to any specific fanworks. Any opinions on fanfiction espoused by the characters are entirely fictional and not based on any real opinions held by the author or real people. TL;DR: It's all fictional, folks. Just a bit of fun.

As soon as Zach cracks open the door, Chris pushes past him into the trailer. There is practically a visible raincloud over his head.

“We need to talk.” 

Zach rolls his eyes at the melodrama, then eases the door shut. When he turns backs around, he takes in the way Chris is fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, the way he is shifting from foot to foot like he wishes he was running laps around the trailer. 

“Okay,” Zach says slowly, trying to puzzle it out before Chris can fill him in. “We’re not dating, so you can’t be breaking up with me. And I’m pretty sure you’re not pregnant with my child, because I think I would have remembered putting it there, and also it’s imposs—”

“Zach,” Chris says, cutting him off. He sounds distressed. And Zach is trying hard to be appropriately worried, but there is something comical about the reedy note in Chris’s voice and how wide his eyes are and...is he blushing? Zach bites down on his bottom lip to keep an amused chortle from working its way out of his mouth.

“Okay, what is it? I’m all ears.”

“I just read something really disturbing.” Chris is staring at Zach’s breastbone rather than looking him in the eye. He licks his lips twice before Zach even has a chance to speak again. 

“Pine,” Zach sighs. “Did you pick up another pulp horror novel at Hudson News when I wasn’t looking? Because you know what happened the last time. I am not going to stay up late watching puppy videos with you on YouTube until you fall asleep again.”

Chris scowls. “No. And don’t even pretend you didn’t enjoy that night. You made me play that one with the bulldog puppy that couldn’t roll over at least 40 times.”

Zach waves his hand dismissively and walks over to the mini fridge to get a bottle of water. If Chris is going to have a meltdown in his trailer, he might as well settle in for it. When he turns back around, Chris is still determined to look anywhere but at him. He rolls his eyes. 

“Okay, what is it then?”

Chris starts pacing. He walks toward the couch like he is going to sit down, but then he turns around and walks to the window instead, peering out like he is afraid someone might be spying on them. Zach follows with his eyes and waits impatiently.

Finally, Chris turns back to him and looks him in the eye. “So, my cousin sends me this email last night. Apparently she was googling me, and she found herself on one of those fanfiction sites, and—”

Zach goes from faintly amused to wholly irritated in no time flat. He holds up his hand, cutting Chris off before he can say any more. “Nope. Don’t want to hear it.”

“Man, come on.”

“ _No_ , Chris. You know how I feel about that stuff.” He walks over to the couch and plops himself down, like the act of sitting might in itself cut the conversation short. “I’m sorry you saw whatever you saw, but keep it to yourself. Or go tell Simon. He thinks all that fan stuff is cool.”

“Uhh, I don’t think you want me to tell Simon about this,” Chris says. 

No. Nope. No way. Zach is not going to let his curiosity get peaked at all. He unscrews the cap on his water bottle and takes a long drink, stalling while he tries to think of something appropriately snarky to say, something that will keep Chris from saying any more. Before he gets a chance, though, Chris sits down next to him, farther away than he normally would. 

“This stuff was _intense_ , Zach. And just...not at all the mediocre, lukewarm porn we thought it would be. It was—”

“Chris,” Zach snaps. When Chris recoils a little bit, he feels a little bit guilty, but _one_ of them has to be responsible enough to keep this conversation out of dangerous territory. “Look, we talked about this years ago. We agreed not to read any of it. No good can come from it.”

“You’re right about that,” Chris grumbles. Zach sighs and turns sideways, laying his arm across the back of the couch, but before he can say anything, Chris is hopping up again, like he is desperate to get away. “I mean, you’re right. I shouldn’t have read it. But I _did_ read it. I read a lot of it. And—”

“How much is a lot?” Zach asks, lifting his eyebrows. Now he’s picturing Chris leaning too close to his computer screen, reading explicit erotica with this horrified look on his face. It’s a little amusing. Zach still stands by his decision to pretend fanfiction doesn’t exist—out of sight, out of mind—but that doesn’t mean he can’t appreciate the comedy in his friend being scandalized by gay porn.

“Let’s just say I didn’t get much sleep last night,” Chris says with a grimace. “Did you know there are _hundreds_ of stories out there?”

“I had some idea,” Zach says, shrugging.

Chris starts pacing again, waving his arms around as he speaks. “I mean, for Kirk and Spock, sure, I expected a lot there, and there are. Tens of thousands. Nothing there was really all that surprising though. Every other story involved pon farr in some way, I swear. But there are hundreds and hundreds of stories about _you and me_ , Zach. I thought it was something that just maybe a handful of, uh, passionate fans would write, but there are actually a _lot_ of people out there writing it!”

Zach sighs wearily and places his water bottle between his knees so he can scrub both hands across his face. He isn’t really sure what Chris wants him to say here. It’s not like he can unread the stories for him. 

“I’m aware, Chris. What’s your point?”

Chris frowns, like he was expecting a little more surprise. “Okay. Okay. But are you aware that one of the recurring themes of these stories is—”

Zach actually claps his hands over his ears. He has half a mind to start humming loudly, just in case Chris decides to keep talking and drag him down into the pit of despair with him. Luckily, Chris shuts up, his lower lip jutting petulantly. Only when Zach is certain that the danger has passed does he lower his hands. That was close.

“—you dominating me? Like, in a kinky way?”

“ _Christopher._ ” 

Chris wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, see, that isn’t exactly the tone of voice I’d use right now if I were you.”

“Oh my _God_.” 

Zach gets to his feet, sets down his water, and takes a few steps toward Chris. But Chris starts backing away, his gaze shifty with uncertainty, and Zach stops short as dread settles in the pit of his stomach. This is why they agreed never to read this stuff. This right here. The way Chris can’t look at him, doesn’t want to be close to him. 

“Chris, this is ridiculous. None of that stuff is real, okay? It’s just people’s imaginations running away with them. It’s…it’s...” He trails off helplessly, trying to figure out the best way to smooth this over. “Can’t you just forget about it?”

“I’ve been trying.” Chris combs his fingers through his hair, then licks his lips for what seems like the millionth time in this short conversation, a nervous tic that Zach recognizes all too well. He hopes Chris brought chapstick with him to set today. If not, Zach has some in his bag that he can— 

Zach grimaces, shaking his head to clear it. Going all mother hen on Chris doesn’t seem appropriate in the context of the conversation. He has a feeling he’s going to be over-examining the boundaries between them for a while, trying to make sure they aren’t putting the wrong kind of vibes out into the world. “Well try harder. Or...just give it time. I’m sure in a few days you’ll have forgotten all about it.”

Chris looks a bit skeptical, but at least he doesn’t jump to argue again. He scratches the back of his head and then shoves his hands into his pockets, shrugging his shoulders up and ducking his head in a way that makes him seem bashful and far too young. Zach lets out a long-suffering sigh and steps forward, running his palms up Chris’s arms and then giving his shoulders a squeeze.

“Look, you know how you get about your privacy,” he says. “Sometimes it takes you hours to calm down after a run-in with the paparazzi. This is probably just like that. You just need some time to chill out.”

“I guess,” Chris sighs, though he still won’t look at Zach. But one step at a time.

“And for fuck’s sake, don’t read any more of it, okay?”

Chris wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. “Oh, trust me, _that’s_ not going to be a problem.”

Zach squeezes Chris’s shoulders one more time, then starts guiding him toward the door. These trailers are small, but this one has never seemed smaller. They both could probably used some breathing room. “You better get over to hair and makeup. You’ve destroyed your Kirk ‘do.”

“Yeah, okay.” Chris shrugs off Zach’s arm and grabs the door handle. “Thanks for talking some sense into me, man.”

He shoots Zach a careful smile, and Zach smiles back. “That’s what I’m here for.” Then, after a beat, he adds, “Captain.”

That finally puts a genuine grin on Chris’s face, which was all Zach wanted to see. The relief lingers even after Chris is gone.

————

Zach makes it to midnight before he gets up and grabs his laptop.

It’s a bad idea and he knows it. Even as he crawls back into bed and starts the computer up, squinting against the sudden brightness of the screen, he wishes he could stop himself. But he’s being a bad friend, isn’t he? He shouldn’t make Chris go through this by himself. Maybe if he knows what it is that disturbed him so much, he can help him get past it. Really, this is a _necessary_ evil. 

It’s amazing, Zach thinks, how easy it is to talk yourself into doing the wrong thing when you should be sleeping.

He types “kirk spock fanfiction” into Google, figuring he’ll ease himself into it, and then clicks on the top link, which takes him to a site called Archive of Our Own, whatever the hell that means. Who is “our”? Was there an archive that _wasn’t_ their own somewhere, that ran them off and made them create their own site? Zach already feels like he might come out of this with more questions than answers. Maybe he should just quit while he’s behind. 

He clicks on the first link.

Twenty minutes later, he’s skimmed a small handful of stories and become way more adept than he wants to be at navigating this Archive Thingy. He has decoded all the little symbols that appear to the left of each entry, and he has learned, happily, what “fluff” means and, not-so-happily, what “mpreg” means. 

The most surprising thing is that it’s not all porn. Even the ones with the little E by them—E for Explicit, he now knows—don’t tend to revolve around the sex. Some of the stories are tens or hundreds of thousands of words long and involve plots more intricate than most screenwriters could come up with. Some of them actually suck him in, before he realizes what he’s doing and makes himself click on to the next one. He’s not here to read. He’s here to explore. He’s here to get a taste for what’s out there and then move on.

Finding the really scary stuff, the stuff about him and Chris, is less difficult than he thought it would be. He guessed he would have to go back to Google and try to wade through entries about cars and beans and horses before finding the “Pinto” stories he’s looking for, but it turns out all he has to do is type his own name into the Archive of Our Own search bar.

“Fourteen eighty- _six_?” he mutters as he stares at the screen in disbelief. There are 1486 stories about _him_ on this site? This _one_ site? Who even knows how many other websites like this one there are out there, and how many other stories there are on those? 

He takes a deep breath. Then another one. He scrolls down until he finds something with a friendly green G next to it, and he clicks.

It’s not so bad, actually. Not at first. A lot of it is kind of cute, full of Scrabble and sharing six packs of beer and the kind of witty banter fans must imagine they have. (It’s completely not true. Most of his conversations with Chris would be boring to the outside observer. Long days of filming or press don’t leave a person with much conversational prowess.) It’s actually a little comforting to see how far off the mark most of it is. No one popped a boner during the scene when Chris got bent backward over the communications console. During the period of time when they lived near each other, they never actually spent that much time at each other’s houses. And their vocabulary games are just that: games. Not foreplay. Although who isn’t turned on by a guy who can say “moribund” with a straight face? There’s nothing _weird_ about that.

But he knows that to understand what freaked Chris out so much, he has to click on a few of the ones sporting intimidating red Es. 

In some ways, it’s worse than he thought it would be, but not in the ways he expected. If it was all poorly written—with “throbbing members” and “pulsing love channels”—then maybe he would be able to laugh at all of it and move on, vindicated in his knowledge that the people who write this stuff are wackos who are wasting their time. But it’s not like that at all. It’s all...pretty compelling. If he was able to distance himself from it and picture two fictional people in the stories, he could see the appeal. There are some real issues being dealt with—issues of exploring budding sexualities and learning to trust a lover and discovering new kinks in a safe and consensual way. It’s hard not to be a little impressed. People could probably learn more from this fanfiction than they do from what passes for sex education in this country.

The only problem is that he _can’t_ divorce any of it from the personal. As his eyes skim the words, he starts to _picture_ things. He starts to see ropes wrapped around Chris’s skinny ankles. He starts to see, all too clearly, the way his skin would flush, his mouth would fall open. There are too many details that his brain already has tucked away, and now they are all coming to the surface in the worst combinations. The way Pine’s ass looks in those Starfleet uniform pants. The way he looks sweaty and breathing hard after a run. The words on the screen are forcing all those images to the surface and twisting them in illicit ways. 

When he starts wondering if raising red stripes across the backs of Chris’s thighs would be as appealing as it sounds, he slams the lid of his laptop shut.

It’s fine. It’s _fine_. Of course he’s going to have thoughts like that _while_ he’s reading this stuff. That doesn’t mean those thoughts will still be there in the light of day. His curiosity is satisfied now. He never has to read any fanfiction ever again, and when he sees Chris tomorrow, he’ll realize how platonic his feelings for him really are, and nothing will have changed. 

Zach picks his phone up off the nightstand and shoots Chris a quick text. _i don’t know what’s got your panties all in a bunch, pine. it’s not that bad._ If he types it out, that makes it true. Or at least closer to true.

He puts his phone on silent and rolls over so he can’t see if it lights up again. If Chris is going to disagree with him, he doesn’t want to know about it.

————

In the morning, Chris still hasn’t texted him back. It’s hard to tell if that’s a bad sign or a good one. Even more unsettling is the fact that Zach now doesn’t know if he should expect Chris for their morning run or not. Awkwardness has never been a problem for them in all the years they have known each other, and it’s unpleasant to feel like they are on uneven footing for the very first time. If it were up to Zach, he would power through it, lean into it, but Chris is more of the avoid and repress type. Things could get rough.

But just as Zach is pulling on his sneakers, there is a knock at the door. He blows out a relieved breath and rushes to answer it, a smile pasted onto his face. Chris is standing there in his ridiculous flimsy tank top and those shorts that could stand to be _a tad_ longer, and he is smiling too, and it would all feel normal again if it weren’t for the fact that Chris’s smile is a shy one. A bashful one. And his cheeks are flushed, like he’s been running already.

 _Power through_ , Zach tells himself, and smiles wider. “Want anything to drink before we head out?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Chris says, half-turning like he’s eager to get going. “You ready?”

Zach steps out the door and turns to lock it behind him, then stuffs his keys in the pocket of his shorts. It’s a beautiful morning—cloudless and not too hot—and under normal circumstances, Zach would be tempted to ask Chris if he wants to go explore the city later, since they have the day off. But he should see how the run goes first. There’s powering through, and then there’s being a bull in a china shop.

The studio has put the cast up in a little gated complex of townhouses. They aren’t big or fancy, but they are better than living in a hotel room for months. Zach’s is nestled between Chris’s on one side and Zoe’s on the other, and the rest of the main cast is one street over. It’s a quiet little community with lots of trees and manicured lawns and vibrant flower beds, and running along the winding streets is surprisingly pleasant. It’s better than running through Manhattan, that’s for sure. Although Zach can’t say that he prefers it to the hills of Silver Lake. He still has a soft spot for the early morning runs he took with Chris there, before the paps started seeking them out. 

That’s another tick-mark in the fanfiction writers’ column. Running together. That’s a thing that happens. But it never ends in sex. So there.

Zach groans, then hides it behind a cough when Chris looks over at him. 

“Let’s just do two miles today,” he says. “I’m not feeling one hundred percent.”

“Sure, no problem,” Chris says. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, just didn’t get all that much sleep.” 

Chris doesn’t ask any follow-up questions, which is a relief. Talking probably isn’t a great idea at the moment. It’s a good thing that running and talking don’t go well together, and they fall into silence after that. Zach focuses on the sound of his own breathing and of their feet pounding the pavement in unison, and he forces his mind to go blank.

It works for a little while, until Chris pulls ahead of them on their second lap around the neighborhood. Zach let his cardio habits lapse a little bit after he was done filming Agent 47, and he has trouble keeping up with Chris these days. Not that it’s a competition. He usually doesn’t mind all that much. But today, having Chris running in front of him is...distracting. His shoulders and his hairline glisten with sweat, and his chicken legs don’t look quite so chickeny when they’re mostly bare and Zach can see the shifting muscles in his calves, the backs of his thighs. The back of his neck is flushed from exertion, and Zach recalls the image of Chris standing on his doorstep, blushing like a kid on a first date.

He scowls and summons a burst of speed, catching up to Chris again. 

“Hey, I’m not feeling so great,” he says—or rather, gasps—nudging Chris’s arm with his elbow. “Can we head back?”

Chris nods at him and turns to cross the street. Zach trails after him, and this time he looks everywhere but at Chris, focusing instead on the birds and the flowers and the pavement disappearing under his feet until they reach their little street again and slow to a walk. 

“Sorry,” Zach says, chest heaving, clutching his sides. “You can keep running if you want.”

“No, it’s okay.” Chris flaps his hand, then swipes it across his forehead. “I’m too skinny as it is. A light cardio day isn’t the worst thing.”

They stop on the sidewalk between the two houses, and awkwardness creeps back in. Chris keeps shifting his weight from foot to foot, and Zach is still having a hard time looking right at him. Just like Chris couldn’t look at him in the trailer yesterday. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you—”

“So you read some stuff?” 

Zach snaps his eyes to Chris’s face, and Chris is looking at him with his eyebrows raised in expectation. 

“Uhh, yeah.” Zach looks around like he expects someone to be eavesdropping on their conversation, but the street is of course deserted. That’s almost a shame. He would have liked an excuse to not have to talk about this. “But like I said, it’s not a big deal. So they have, umm, vivid imaginations? So what?”

“Yeah,” Chris says, but it doesn’t sound like an agreement at all. So Zach waits. Sometimes waiting Chris out is the best way to get him to talk. 

“I’m not like that,” he says at all, scuffing his toe on the sidewalk. “You know, how they write me? I’m not...in bed, I mean, I’m not—”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Zach says in a rush. “It’s none of my business.”

“But I don’t want you...picturing…”

“I’m not picturing anything.” You would think that an actor could do a better job of sounding more casual than he feels, but Zach totally blows it. His voice comes out strained and too emphatic, and the look Chris shoots him is uncomfortably shrewd. Zach takes a step back. “Are _you_ picturing it?”

Chris doesn’t answer right away, and that’s answer enough. Zach does the only thing he can think to do. He turns on his heel and practically runs for his front door.

But Chris _follows_ him—of course he does. Just as Zach is about to slam the door shut behind him, Chris’s hand is there to stop it, and then he’s stepping inside and shutting them both off from the outside world. They’re alone. _Too_ alone. Zach heads for the kitchen.

“Look, we really don’t need to talk about this,” he says as he opens the fridge. For the sole purpose of being able to hide his face inside for a moment. He comes out with a bottle of water and tosses another to Chris, hoping it might distract him long enough for a subject change. It doesn’t.

“I think we should talk about it. I think I need to talk about it.”

“Chris,” Zach sighs, “you read that stuff two nights ago. You have to give it time to get it out of your system. This isn’t worth ruining a decade-long friendship over.”

That, at least, seems to give Chris pause. He grips the sweating water bottle with both hands and runs his tongue over his lips, staring at the wall somewhere past Zach’s left shoulder. 

The very last thing he expects Chris to say is, “What if it doesn’t ruin our friendship?”

 _"What?”_ Zach’s mouth hangs open for a moment. He stares at Chris, but Chris just stares back. “Chris...what?”

“It’s already...I don’t think it’s going to get better. I think it’s going to get worse.” Chris takes a step closer and sets his water down on the counter. He scrubs the condensation on his shorts. “When I was reading through that stuff, at first I thought it was hilarious. And ridiculous. And then I was laying in bed that night, and the more I thought about it...the more I couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it, and the less ridiculous it seemed. And now…”

Zach’s heart should have calmed down from the run by now, but it’s pounding harder than ever. He wants to put a stop to this, but it already feels inevitable somehow, like they have too much momentum built up. Maybe if he had cancelled their run this morning. Or if he had resisted the urge to go digging through the fanfiction last night. Or if he had laughed in Chris’s face yesterday morning instead of trying to reassure him. 

Or maybe none of that would have helped, and they would have found their way to this moment one way or another, sooner or later, fanfiction or no fanfiction.

Chris’s face is flaming, but he takes a deep breath and lifts his chin defiantly. “I thought about you when I was jacking off in the shower this morning.”

Zach is so stunned he forgets to breathe for a moment. And then it hits him all at once—arousal that feels like a punch in the gut, and desire he couldn’t ignore if he wanted to. Chris wants him. Chris read about them having sex, and he thought about it, and he decided that he _wants_ it. He got off to the thought of it. 

“Jesus _fuck_ , Pine.” 

He reaches out and grabs a handful of Chris’s sweaty tank top and drags him in, crushing their mouths together. The sound Chris makes is needy and grateful, and it makes Zach burn hotter, want him more. He pushes his fingers into Chris’s damp hair and grips it tight, yanking his head back a little as he licks into his mouth. He can taste the salt on his upper lip and the remnants of the smoothie he must have had for breakfast, and it makes him want to keep kissing him and kissing him until all he can taste is Chris and nothing else. 

He backs Chris up into the counter behind him, and the kiss breaks on a gasp. Just as Zach is about to dive in for more, Chris leans back a little to look him in the eye, his chest heaving. 

“I, uh, I wanted to ask you…” The shyness from before the run comes back, and this time Zach reaches out and touches the flushed, hot skin of Chris’s cheek. Chris’s eyelids flutter. “I’m not sure if you...uh, I mean, I...in those stories…”

“You want to know if any of them are accurate?” Zach guesses. 

Chris nods.

“Which ones did you like?” he asks. It’s safer this way than trying to guess and risking saying something disappointing. The truth is, Zach is pretty vanilla in bed. And he’s also not nearly as toppy as people seem to think he is. With the right person, he can enjoy bottoming just as much as topping. But what he wants right now, more than anything, is to give Chris exactly what he wants. He wants to reduce him to the incoherent, writhing mess that certain fangirls seems to think he’s more than capable of reducing him to. There is not much he would refuse him to make that happen.

“I liked...a lot of things,” Chris says unhelpfully.

Zach leans in and licks sweat out of the hollow of Chris’s neck, then hums in satisfaction when he lets out a pretty little whine. He experiments with a little scrape of his teeth, and that earns him a hiss—a good hiss—and a roll of Chris’s hips. He can’t leave any marks though. That much is a no-no. 

“Tell me what to do,” Chris says at last. And yeah, Zach can work with that. He can definitely work with that.

“Get on your knees.”

Chris drops to the floor without hesitation, and Zach backs up a little to give him enough space to kneel in front of the kitchen cabinets. But when Chris reaches for the waistband of his shorts, Zach bats his hands away. “Put them behind your back.”

Obedience is a good look for Chris. Zach can certainly see the appeal. And he sees why other people could see the appeal. Right now the last thing he wants to be thinking about is fanfiction though, or the fact that they’re fulfilling the fantasies of hundreds of people.

They’ll never know though. This is just for Zach. No matter how many times anyone else imagines it or writes it down or role plays it out, they’ll never experience precisely this, the way it feels to have those too-blue eyes fixed on him in trust, the knowledge that the tent in Chris’s shorts are just for him.

Zach eases his shorts down and steps out of them, then pulls his shirt off over his head and tosses it aside. He is hard for Chris already, and he jacks himself a couple times with one hand, resting the other one on the counter about Chris’s head.

“Come here,” he says. Chris leans in, opening his mouth to take Zach in, but Zach pulls out of reach again, making him wait for it. When Chris catches on and stills, Zach leans in again, but he doesn’t push into Chris’s waiting mouth quite yet. Instead, he runs the head of his cock across his parted lips. “God, your mouth, Chris.”

Zach he catches a hint of a twinkle of Chris’s eyes before his tongue sneaks out for the gentlest of brushes against his cock. The breath leaves Zach’s lungs for a moment. He clutches the edge of the counter while he waits for it to come back, then reaches for Chris’s hair, grabs and twists until his mouth falls open wider.

He sinks in slowly at first, watching Chris’s face for signs of discomfort. But Chris swallows around him and looks entirely unperturbed—impatient even. His hands sneak up to the backs of Zach’s thighs before Zach realizes and makes a sound of admonishment. “Ah, ah, Pine. Hands.”

Chris hums in apology and crosses his hands behind his back again, but he takes advantage of Zach’s lack of concentration to slide the last couple of inches down on Zach’s cock. So much for obedience. It’s hard to be too upset when he’s caught in the embrace of Chris’s throat though, and Zach can’t do much but grip Chris’s hair a little harder and hiss a string of obscenities while he tries to maintain his composure. And then Chris pulls off and dives back down again, and he gives up entirely. There’s no way he can play the cool, collected role in this. It’s just not him. And judging by the way Chris’s hands are twitching again, he’s finding it just as difficult.

Zach groans and bends over Chris’s body, resting a forearm on the counter as he struggles to stay upright. “You can touch me. Do...do whatever you want, just...don’t fucking stop.”

The sound Chris makes is so triumphant it’s obscene. One would think this is what he wanted all along, like he didn’t practically beg Zach to be the man he read about. But it’s comforting to know that maybe the man he is will satisfy him better.

Chris lifts one hand to the back of Zach’s thigh again, his fingers digging into his flesh, and he wraps the other around the base of his cock. He cradles Zach on his tongue and works the first few inches of him with his mouth, his hand jacking the rest. It isn’t showy—like Chris taking him in balls-deep like it was no big deal—but _fuck_ being showy, because this is exceptional. Chris is enthusiastic, moaning around him and flicking his tongue over the head and gripping him just right. There are a few tears on his cheeks, leftover from when he was gagging on Zach’s cock a moment ago, and Zach reaches down and swipes his fingers through them, then cradles his jaw. He feels tender and manic all at once. Last night he would have sworn up and down that he didn’t want Chris at all, but now he wants him so badly it’s physically painful. Even though he has him on his knees, groaning around his dick like it’s the best thing he ever put in his mouth, he still wants him. Wants more. Wants everything.

“Fuck, I’m gonna...gonna come, Chris,” he warns. Chris makes an encouraging sound and takes him deeper, sucks him harder, his fingers gripping Zach’s thigh hard enough to bruise. And then it’s all over. Zach empties himself into Chris’s mouth, and Chris keeps sucking him through it, through the last feeble pulse, until he is oversensitive and tingly and can’t stay on his feet.

He pulls out and sinks to his knees, wrapping his hand around the back of Chris’s neck and pulling him in for a clumsy, open-mouthed kiss. Chris’s lips are swollen and Zach can taste himself on his tongue, and fuck if it isn’t hot as hell. He palms Chris’s erection through his shorts, then jerks them down and out of the way so he can get a hand around him. 

“Zach,” Chris sighs. His eyes flutter close and his head thunks back against the cabinets behind him. Zach can’t resist leaning in to lick the exposed column of his throat, which is still salty with drying sweat. Chris is so hard in his hand, and when Zach swipes his thumb across the head of his cock, it comes away wet. Something tells him this isn’t going to take long.

He’s not wrong. It isn’t long before Chris’s hands are scrabbling at the tile under him as he tries to get the leverage to push his hips up, push himself through Zach’s fist. Zach looks down and watches his hand move over Chris’s dick, then nudges his shirt up out of the way so he can watch his abs tighten. In half a dozen more strokes, Chris cries out and grips Zach shoulder, and then comes over his hand, a few pearly drops landing on his stomach, a few on the floor. 

Afterward, they slump together, limbs tangled, breathing in unison. The tile is a little cold and a lot uncomfortable, but Zach is a little afraid that if they move, it will break the spell. Chris’s fingers are swirling absently through the hair on Zach’s arms, and he keeps letting out the most contented little sighs, and Zach will stay here forever if it means this never has to end.

“See, I don’t think this is going to ruin our friendship,” Chris says at last, turning his head a little so his lips brush Zach’s jaw when he speaks.

“Oh yeah?” Zach says, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah. It seems pretty safe to say it’s only going to improve it.”

“You think so, huh?” Zach has to disentangle himself a little bit so he can look at Chris’s face, make sure he isn’t joking.

“I know so,” Chris says, a small smile on his lips. “So will you stop freaking out so we can go take a shower?”

Zach wants to roll his eyes and protest that he isn’t freaking out, but he’s too busy smiling to do either of those things. He gets to his feet and pulls Chris up after him, then drags him in for one more kiss.

They’re halfway to the bathroom when Chris turns around again, a worryingly serious expression on his face. Zach stops short.

“Hey...do you think we should leave comments on some of those stories? Let the authors know they inspired some hot kitchen floor sex?”

“Oh my God, Pine,” Zach says with a laugh. He shoves at his shoulder to get him moving again and then swats him on the ass. “Come on, let’s go, I’m gross.”

“It would only be polite. That’s all I’m saying.” 

Later that night, they pick a story at random and leave one short comment: _Thank you for writing this!_ It’s less flowery than Chris wants and it’s a whole sentence more than Zach wants, but in the end, Chris is right. It’s only polite, after what they managed to inspire.

“Hey, you want to read some more?” Chris asks, nudging Zach with his elbow and waggling his eyebrows. “Maybe we’ll get some good ideas.”

Zach lets out a long-suffering sigh. And he clicks.


End file.
